


Bro-Union

by Morteamore



Series: Kinktober 2019 [3]
Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Anal Sex, Atlas CEO Rhys, Bandit king Vaughn, Double Penetration, Friends With Benefits, Kinktober 2019, M/M, Open Relationships, Oral Sex, Post-Canon, Snowballing, Threesome - M/M/M, gayperion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-12-27 06:29:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21114251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morteamore/pseuds/Morteamore
Summary: The Calypsos have been defeated by the Vault Hunters. Those involved have slowly returned to a semblance of their normal, peaceful lives. Rhys Strongfork, in much need of a vacation after the events, calls on the Vault Hunters to escort him to Pandora to visit his bestest bandit bro, Vaughn. With the promise of a good payout, Zane Flynt volunteers, only to end up more intimately involved with the pair than he bargained for.





	Bro-Union

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Kinktober prompts: Threesome and double penetration
> 
> Though this story takes place after Borderlands 3, it's mostly spoiler free. There are a few mentions of things that transpired, so some caution for that, but they're kept to a minimum.

Escort missions were far from Zane’s forte. Frankly, he was surprised he’d agreed to this one, considering it had been sprung on him without warning. Still, his duties prior had been done, Lilith gone to the stars, enormous crest taking up the night sky in her wake; or she was just plain missing. Wasn’t like he was all that knowledgeable in the ways of sirens to tell, and nobody seemed keen to school him on the subject. So he didn’t exactly know. What he did know was that, in picking up the pieces after the Calypso Twins had been defeated, his days had gone back to eventless lulls. There was still some stray Children of the Vault wandering the galaxy to contend with. But most of their forces had been pushed back, or coerced into joining what was shaping up to be the Children of the Firehawk.

So when Rhys Strongfork, the Atlas CEO, had propositioned for one of the Vault Hunters to escort him to Pandora offering a wealth in guns, liquor, and eridium for the job, Zane was first to volunteer. Somewhat for the liquor and guns, mostly for the adventure. Atlas soldiers had helped stuff the cargo bay with what presumably was the ‘good stuff’, which Zane had found out was meant for Rhys’ destination and not actually him. Disheartening. But having such a rare treat in abundance would probably end up eventually boring him of it, honestly. Better to maintain its exclusivity as a celebratory staple even if he was left pining.

The destination on Pandora ended up being the bandit camp of the former Sun Smashers clan. No surprise, since their bandit king, who’d managed to stay alive and keep his mind free of the COV’s brainwashing, was the ex-Hyperion accountant Vaughn. In the more casual moments Zane had shared with the man, he’d revealed that he was chummy with Rhys, maybe even more than that. The Operative had detected a hint of something else in the chief’s voice, wavering just beneath the surface. He’d been around the six galaxies long enough to know when someone had a _thing_ for someone else. And Vaughn, in all his high strung, randy, underwear-toting splendor, had a thing.

Now if Rhys had a thing too, that much Zane couldn’t detect. He hadn’t spent much time around the Atlas CEO, but he seemed alright for a corporate lad. He wouldn’t mind playing matchmaker for either of the fellows if it came down to that. After all, he was old enough to be pretty well versed in the art of seduction. So much that it had landed him in danger in more ways than he could count at this point.

Once Rhys was on Sanctuary III and they were orbiting Pandora, it was just a matter of using the Fast Travel. They made planet fall while the sun was streaking the sky with neon orange and burnt red, signaling another ridiculous ninety-hour day was coming to an end and night was falling. That meant it would probably be dark for the duration they were here. Zane couldn’t say he minded that, if it meant for less harsh conditions. 

However, it didn’t often coincide with less Psycho activity. One leaped in Zane’s face almost as soon as they’d arrived, the gangly, lone figure screaming something about flesh feasts from behind his mask. Quick on the draw, Zane snatched his pistol from its holster and shot him point blank in the head, blood and brain matter spattering in a gory display on the sand below. The body flopped down a moment later, and Rhys ducked behind the nearest rock, retching with noisy abandon. Shaking his head, Zane sighed and came around to him, patting him on the back when he had stopped.

“Stay close, boyo,” he told him, marching forward. “Don’t know what be lurking for us out here tonight.”

“Trust me, you don’t have to tell me twice,” Rhys answered. “I am all too familiar with Pandoran lifeforms.” 

Rebuilt from scratch and COV scraps, Vaughn’s new bandit camp was not yet complete. Some structures remained bereft of roofs or walls, while others were little more than metal cargo crates with doors and windows cut out of them with crude skill, the edges wonky and jagged. There were a few individuals loitering around the outskirts. Lookouts, probably, dressed up in layers of equal leather and armor. None of them seemed phased by Zane or Rhys’ presences, nor like they were going to sound the alarms. The pair strolled into the camp grounds as if they were honorary clan members. Which they might as well have been. Their destination: the heart of camp, where an enormous tent that looked like it belonged more to the circus was situated, its patchwork material flapping in the occasional wind that picked up and stirred the wasteland sands. Torches adorned with skulls were lit outside the entrance flap, which was rolled up to allow access to the interior. 

As if expecting a fight, Zane was tense when he met one of the guard’s stares. Or what he thought was their stare. It was hard to tell beneath the cloth mask stretched across their face, eyes obscured by thick goggles. Beside him, Rhys rubbed the back of his neck with his cybernetic hand, the finest sheen of sweat peppering his forehead. The guard turned their head to follow their path as they passed, but made no sudden moves. They weren’t going to be stopped, apparently.

Rhys was the first to duck into the tent. Quite literally, at that. The cut out for the entrance flap had been built with smaller bodies in mind. Even Zane didn’t exactly clear it. Once inside, though, the top was vaulted at least twenty feet into the sky, the circular chamber the structure made shadowed and bathed in a soft, warm glow, as the only light came from the pyre burning in its center. Carpets with psychedelically woven patterns adorned the ground, people gathered on them by themselves or in clusters, a few small skags lazing about or sniffing around. Beyond that, towards the northern portion of the tent, a trail of cushions began, stacked higher and higher until they formed a mini hillside, a makeshift throne of what looked like bone at the top. Sitting in that throne, legs pretzeled into the lotus position, a squat but muscular man stripped down to his skivvies sat, beard unkempt. His greenish colored eyes went wide as they approached, mouth gaping open as he barked out a delighted laugh and uncoiled his legs, nearly tumbling down the cushion pile with exuberance.

“Bro!” came the bellowing greeting from Vaughn. “Ohmygoditsreallyyou!”

He kept barreling forward, momentum unchecked. There was a few inches between him and Rhys, and then none at all. The much less bulkier and far taller man felt the wind get knocked out of him upon impact. He was gasping and wheezing even before he hit the ground, Vaughn’s stocky arms wrapped around his torso, his head smooshed against his chest in an aggressive bear hug.

“V-Vaughn, please….” Rhys gasped out, struggling to take in enough air to both breath and speak. “You…you…need…shower….”

Vaughn picked up his head, grin so wide it was a rictus, seemingly more insane than friendly.

“I figured you’d be stuck on Promethea working your ass off for at least, oh, say another five years without a vacation. I’m so glad that you’re actually not.”

Trying to sit up, Rhys wheezed out a breath, which became a harsh cough.

“I would be, ‘cept I have some, uh, really great people working for me these days.” Rhys cleared his throat, wincing as Vaughn kept his iron grip on him. “They’re more than capable of holding down HQ. That, and Zer0 demanded I get the hell off planet for awhile after dealing with the Maliwan invasion.”

Pulling away as violently as he’d grabbed him, Vaughn raised himself up halfway and sat back on his heels. Air rushed into Rhys’ lungs, allowing him to breathe without hindrance again. He gasped and used his hands to push himself upright, not noticing the way his friend was staring at him as if he’d revealed he was carrying a time bomb in his pocket.

“Wait, you got _invaded_? By _Maliwan_?” Vaughn’s voice had risen to a near squeak and he promptly dropped it back down several octaves. “Bro, why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve done something. I could’ve sent—I don’t know, reinforcements! We could’ve had ourselves a good old-fashioned _blood feud_.”

“No offense, Vaughn. But Maliwan needed to be dealt with by more than just a dozen or so bloodthirsty bandits with homebrewed weapons. They had the COV working with them.”

“Ah, yeah, totally understand that.” Rubbing at his beard, Vaughn’s tone became softer. “Really didn’t have the men to spare probably by that time, anyway. Or no men at all left, actually.”

“Shit, I’m sorry. I should’ve kept better in touch. It’s just that starting Atlas back up from the ashes just ended up taking more effort than I realized. I know, no excuse.”

“No, no. It’s cool, Rhys. Come on. We’re bros, man. Besides, third clans the charm, right?”

It took awhile, but a small smile eventually touched Rhys’ lips, not quite reaching his eyes. At least, not yet. Still, he made an effort to keep buoyant, allowing the slight tinge of heaviness that had briefly touched the air not to sever the positivity overall .

For a moment, Vaughn looked away from him, finally catching sight of the tall older man that was standing a bit apart from them, his gaze fixed on the pair but his demeanor detached from the situation. The bandit king flipped him a wave as he recognized him.

“Zane, right? Didn’t think we’d be running into each other again so soon. Thanks for delivering my buddy here in one piece.”

“Aye, think nothing of it,” Zane said with a half of a shrug, his gaze falling on the way Vaughn patted Rhys’ human shoulder, fingers stroking as they lingered. “Just as long as I be getting me payment from your mate there.”

Only slightly shaky, the chuckle that escaped Rhys was quiet as he said, “I wouldn’t stiff a Vault Hunter out of pay,” as he lifted his palm and set the built-in ECHO to active mode. “You’ll get what I owe as soon as we’re back on the ship. In the meanwhile, I’ll have that cache of liquor brought down from the ship. Then we can get this reunion properly started.”

“That sounds a lot better than the Pandoran shine we got lying around here. Woo, man. That stuff will grow hair on you in places you _really_ don’t need it. Trust me, it’s happened.”

“Yer definitely not fibbin’ about that, boyo,” Zane piped up. “Last time I had the shine I was just a wee lad. Ended up lyin’ in a ditch with me pants down and the biggest feckin’ skag ya ever laid yer peepers on tryin’ to give me the ride straight up me arse.”

Both of the other men had turned curious gazes on The Operative, Rhys’ face wrinkled in a such a way it looked like he was trying to refrain from either laughing or appearing disgusted. Vaughn’s was simply rippled with bafflement.

Suddenly Zane let out a bark of a laugh, making them both flinch.

“Right. I’ll just get me coat.”

There was the subtlest of shifts as Vaughn shot Rhys a look, the other man’s shrug barely consisting of movement, as if he were trying to hide it from Zane. Awkward silence hung on the air for a few moments, accented with snapping and crackling from the pyre behind them. Ever brave, Vaughn eventually took a breath, one hand scratching idly at an asscheek before both hands came to rest on his contoured hips. 

“You know what?” he said, breaking the tension in the air at last. “Why don’t you both make yourselves at home and I’ll have my people bring you something to nosh on while I go freshen up. Chef Goregee makes the best teriyaki rakk sliders. He’s actually more a dabbler than a chef, but can’t be picky out here.”

“I—sounds fine to me,” Rhys said, appearing uncertain but ever quick to answer.

“Great! You guys just sit tight and try not to get bored. If anybody makes an attempt to gnaw on your extremities, just give them a good kick and tell them I told them to back off.” 

Without waiting for a reply, Vaughn shot them finger guns. Then, with a twirl of the raggedy cape tied around his neck, which billowed out like limp plumage, he turned and made his exit.

“Shite, Rhys. Tell those lads of yours to shake arse. I really, really need a good stiff drink if I’m to be makin’ it through this.”

“Right,” Rhys said after a beat or two, his blink happening in such slow motion that he seemed like something mechanical that had gotten its motor in a bind. He raised his cybernetic arm to eye level. “I’ll, uh, get right on that.”

“Thank ye kindly, boyo.”

With that, Zane gave the CEO a sharp salute and made his way towards the mound of cushions.

XXX

Flushed, bellies full of various passable finger foods and snacks, limbs and heads heavy with sloth and intoxication, the bandit king and the Atlas CEO lay stretched upon the plethora of pillows, sinking ever deeper into their mushy confines as if they were quicksand. Perhaps cleaner than he had been in a skag’s age, Vaughn had scrubbed whatever dirt and grime wasn’t permanently baked into his skin off, new pair of briefs clinging to his chiseled form. His hair was damp, bedraggled, water running down his body in rivulets from the wet strands. It suited him, somehow, made him look like some oiled muscle god.

It had become much later than it had been, minutes tumbling into hours as the two plunged deep down the rabbit hole of everything and nothing. Sometimes their conversation became so rushed that they talked over each other and looked ready to burst from their skins, Zane waiting for the moment when one of them inevitably passed out from lack of oxygen. Of course, it didn’t happen, and they settled into as many bouts of comfortable silence as they did nests of words.

At some point, Rhys lost his shirt, his skin pinkish with the liquor pumping through his veins and the heated, humid night. Zane was surprised to see the large, inky blue pattern adorning him, out of place, seemingly, on a man of his demeanor. Not that Zane was any connoisseur of tattoos or who happened to decide to get them.

Vaughn’s thumb had found its way to the area above Rhys’ upper lip, fanning through the cluster of fine hairs there with a grin that could be misinterpreted as salacious. Or perhaps it was absolutely meant to be just that. 

“S’nice,” he commented, leaning in close, one eye wide even as the other squinted shut. “Makes you look adventurous and rugged. I always did say back on Helios you’d give Vasquez a run for his money if you stopped shaving.” 

“Did you? Hard to remember our Hyperion days with everything that’s happened to us.” 

Sloppy smile plastered like a badge of mellowness on his face, Rhys plucked a grape off a nearby bunch, taking it delicately between the flesh of forefinger and thumb. He guided it to Vaughn’s lips, pushing it against the soft bow of them until they parted, the grape sucked between them as if into a black hole. Rhys’ fingers disappeared with it, plunging into the warm cavern, suction keeping them locked in place. 

From his place set apart from them, Zane upended a glass bottle, head tilted back, throat working until all the liquor had been drained down his gullet. Maybe if he wasn’t feeling the effects of the good shit, he wouldn’t have said anything when he looked over. As it was, as he swiped a bit of alcoholic drool from the corner of his mouth, he couldn’t hold back.

“Oi, would you two just stop playin’ it all coy-like and get each others holes already? For feck’s sake. Last time I seen this much unresolved sexual tension, I was haulin’ arse away from one of me own weddin’s. Frigid slag wouldn’t even give me a snog.” 

Withdrawing his fingers, Vaughn reluctant to relinquish them, Rhys wiped excess saliva on his pants and turned to Zane. One eyebrow was drawn in an assessing manner, as if he were a machine trying to parse Zane’s terminology. 

“Coy?” he finally asked, a bit of a slur to his drawl. “Whose being coy here? Are you being coy with me, Vaughn?”

“Maybe a little,” the other man admitted, his attention falling to Rhys’ pants. Or, more specifically, his pants pocket as he reached over and slipped a hand inside one. “You didn’t come all this way just for me to rush through my bandit loving, though.”

“Yeah, see. What Vaughn said.”

For a long time, Zane just stared at the pair of them; so long in fact that they got bored of waiting for him to reply and turned their attention back to each other. Vaughn’s hand emerged from Rhys’ pocket empty, and he plunged it into the other pocket, not giving up the hunt for whatever he was after. In the process, he placed chaste kisses on Rhys’ shoulder, moving up the side of his neck, mouthing across the black ink embedded in the skin there. 

“So yer sayin’ I escorted ya all the way to Pandora just for an interplanetary bum call?” Zane finally spoke up. “Shite, I know those soldiers a yer’s aren’t exactly professionals, but ya didn’t really need me for this sort of shindig.” 

“No.” The word was adamant and drawn out, but it took Rhys a bit before he spoke again, a soft grunt escaping his lips as Vaughn’s hand finally found what it was looking for and slid it out. “I mean, it wasn’t the _only_ reason. And you’re _way_ better at handling Pandora than like anyone I know. Except Zer0. And, er, Lorelei I guess. Oh, yeah, Vaughn here, of course. Some other people maybe.”

“Jaysus.” Reaching for a new and unopened bottle of liquor, The Operative worked it open with a multi-use pocket tool, nearly dousing himself in the process of tilting it to his mouth. “And here I thought it would be me job to convince you fellas its alright to knock the hole off each other.” 

“Though we appreciate the concern for our, er, intimate health, trust me,” Rhys said matter-of-factly. His cybernetic palm found the ridges and slopes of Vaughn’s abs, caressing them as if they were the effigy of some deity. “We’re plenty capable of hole knocking on each other on our own.”

“Right. Do me a favor, boyo, and never utter those words in that order again. Slangs best left to the professionals.”

Holding his prize aloft, Vaughn was studying a small, transparent cylindrical tube with a substance inside that was colored the same shade as coffee with cream.

“No way, bro. You actually brought Midnight Oil _XXL_? After that stash that was looted from Opportunity went dry, I can never get this stuff here anymore. Not even on the super underground market.”

“What, really? Shit, remind me to send you some regular care packages. They just released this new matcha flavor. I brought macchiato, though. I thought you’d like that better.”

“Wait, is that lube ya got there?” Zane asked the pair.

“Yup!” Rhys replied as if he were declaring his undying devotion to the product. “_When you need to burn the midnight oil…in bed, no matter what galaxy you hail from, you can trust Midnight Oil for an out of this world experience. Now in XXL. Just a few drops and you’ll be space walking all night. Caution: can only be removed with gentle cleansers after application_.” 

“You memorized a bloody commercial.” It wasn’t a question, Zane’s voice unladen with inflection. “For knob polish.”

“Atlas is thinking about partnering with them for a new gun oil formula.”

“You corporate lads are right baffling at times, but also fairly entertainin’.” Rising from his cushioned seat, Zane heard a few things crack within him, unused to experiencing inertia for so long in most recent times. He sipped from his bottle, gesturing to the CEO and bandit. “I’ll give you ye privacy, though. Be right outside takin’ potshots at the local fauna with some of yer bandit folk. Sure they wouldn’t mind joinin’ in on good slaughter practice.”

“Hey, if either of us were uncomfortable, I would’ve dragged Rhys back to my private quarters,” Vaughn spoke up. One of his fingers traced along the happy trail that led from Rhys’ navel to the waistband of his slacks, ruffling the fine dark hairs. “You’re welcome to stay. I promise. Unless we’re making _you_ uncomfortable.”

“Ah, no, ain’t like that.” Shifting his weight, The Operative’s hand slipped behind the collar of his jacket, rubbing the skin there. “Ya see, boyos, just been a skag’s age since I’ve rattled the insides out of anythin’. Whole Calypso business really caged the ole horn. I’m just a right ball of it.”

A look was passed between Rhys and Vaughn, as if something unspoken was being exchanged between them, unfathomable by their expressions. When they turned back to Zane, Rhys’ eyes may have gone glassy, his movements touched with uncoordination. But there was no denying the smug implication of the watery smirk on his face.

“You’re supposed to be acting as my bodyguard,” he said, the words rolling off his tongue with an almost lethargic slant. “And I’m _pretty_ sure I didn’t instruct you to leave yet.”

He couldn’t help himself; Zane actually snorted. But to argue with the person you were supposed to be working for was often futile. They didn’t pay you to run your mouth off at them. Defeated before he was even out of the starting gate, Zane flopped back down, balancing his liquor precariously as he shrugged out of his jacket. The heat from the fire in the center of the tent was starting to feel intense. Or maybe it was just his body working double time to expunge all the alcohol in his blood.

Could also be the show unfurling just a few feet away, though he was trying not to pay it much mind. Still, it was hard for his eyes not to be drawn over to it, stocky, muscled Vaughn wrapping powerful arms around Rhys and drawing them together. When they kissed, the lines of their bodies pressed flush together held a certain perfect symmetry Zane couldn’t really understand. Either they knew each other well enough to comprehend the best ways in which they interlocked without even giving it a second thought, or some force of nature had built them with the idea of them fitting into the pockets of each other’s existences, two halves of one whole.

Shite, he’d really overdone it with the alcohol, hadn’t he? There hadn’t been this much drink in his bloody system since before joining up with the Firehawk. 

Vaughn had worked open Rhys’ pants at some point, drawn them down to about mid-thigh. What lay beneath was rather surprising. In the deepest black and crimson, a pair of Hyperion boxer-briefs fit snug to Rhys’ skin, the bulge of the crotch hard to ignore. Any size smaller, and Rhys would have serious trouble walking. 

“You’ve got a vintage limited edition pair of Hyperion underwear, pre-Handsome Jack years?” Eyes gleaming with a hungry light, Vaughn poked the prominent bulge, making Rhys squirm. “I always wanted a pair of these, bro. Where did you get them? You got to loan me them. Just for like a day.”

“I wore them for you,” Rhys said, trying to purr the words out but ending up nearly exclaiming them. “Glad you approve.”

“I almost don’t want to take them off.”

“Well, keep them on, then. But then I can’t possibly let you borrow them that way.”

Something crossed Vaughn’s expression, his thick brows bowing with it. Then he bent to kiss Rhys’ navel, his hands scrambling at the man’s pants, tugging them down all the way with such haste that the material almost ripped. Rhys couldn’t help but chuckle as his lover struggled to yank them off his feet, freeing him. The underwear was next, Vaughn’s touch far more gentler as he rolled them down and carefully drew Rhys’ long legs out of them, folding them and setting them aside like precious cargo. His palms gripped the Atlas CEO’s calves, then, smoothing upward over the socks adorned with the Atlas logo and little pistols that ran up to his knees. Calloused fingerpads caressed the knobby bones of his knees, gripped skinny thighs until blood was restricted and the skin bleached white. The bandit king had shifted his position on the cushion pile, parting Rhys’ legs so he could settle between them.

Leaned back, Zane found himself glued to the sight, a lazy, rolling thunder of arousal flickering through him. He reached for his liquor, realized the bottle was empty again, snatched a teriyaki rakk slider off a platter instead and shoved the entire thing in his mouth. The sounds of chewing toughened meat into something malleable were the backdrop to the image of Vaughn seizing Rhys by the base of his cock and balls, holding him down while he all but shoved his length down his throat. Rhys’ back arched, skin taut with the strain, making him look like he’d burst at the seams. His breath drew in sharply, chest expanding until he let it out in a low, shaky moan. The man who had him so expertly pinned pressed onward, cheeks hollowing, the sounds of wet suction all too audible as he sucked at the engorged flesh stretching his lips. A flutter and spiral of tongue against Rhys’ underside, lapping in unbroken patterns at the relief of veins and ridges. Lips retracted, Vaughn snatched at the lube he’d laid on a pillow, drizzling some on to the swollen and darkened head of the other man’s cock. His fist worked it in, the substance going on clear despite its color. Excess saliva seeped from the bandit’s lips to drip down and mingle with it. 

The whimpers coming from Rhys rose to a crystalline pitch as Vaughn dove back down, this time not breaking his momentum until he was pressed in nose to pubic hair. Rhys rolled his hips, hand searching out the depths of Vaughn’s abundant mane of hair, snarling in its depths. The other man raised his head, tonguing at the frenulum, Rhys all but squirming.

“Ah, fuck, sorry,” Rhys managed to get out between breaths as Vaughn plunged back down. “Feels like…I’m gonna….”

Rhys didn’t finish the sentence, words devoured by the breathless noises and hiccups of sound he made. Letting go of his scrotum, Vaughn quickened his pace. He cycled between swaths of his tongue and gentle suction, coaxing Rhys to elevated levels of bliss.

Flexing and bunching, Rhys’ fingers formed a death grip in Vaughn’s hair. His movements jerked the other man’s head with such potent force that he made a slight choking noise. A true king of bandits, though, Vaughn hardly let it break his rhythm, foregoing a cease fire until Rhys was throwing back his head, baring his throat as a cry was ripped forth from it. Almost in the same instance, Vaughn’s mouth was being flooded with jolts of warm cum, the flavor overriding his senses as it splashed against his tongue.

All of a sudden Vaughn was pulling away, and Zane was pretty sure the man hadn’t swallowed a drop of what was cradled in his mouth. He moved up Rhys’ body, practically climbing him as if he were a cliff face, his arm snaking around the back of the man’s neck. Tilting his lolling head, Vaughn pressed his lips hard to the CEO’s, prodding them open. The response was gradual, building in enthusiasm, Rhys eventually needing little persuasion in imbibing his own essence.

“Huh. That really does taste like a macchiato,” he observed in a hoarse croak when Vaughn pulled away. “A salty macchiato.”

It may have been one of the most brain melting things Zane had witnessed in his long lifespan. Not even the woman with the three breasts he’d happened upon in one den of iniquity or other had chubbed him up as fast. 

Hours seemed like they passed. Zane was pretty sure they hadn’t. Having recovered from their short oral prelude, Vaughn scooped Rhys up into his grasp with herculean strength, pulling him into his lap. The other man was little more than liquid and skin at the moment, parts of him loose and limp as he clung to the bandit king. 

There was one organ that refused to surrender to the infliction, however. Rhys’ cock jutted from his groin as if he’d never came, the velveteen flesh straining for more attention. It was given a few teasing strokes by Vaughn’s fumbling palms before he was grasping at the CEO’s ass, applying a fair amount of lube within and around his hole. Neither of them had much patience for any more foreplay, Vaughn slipping a wide finger into Rhys all the way up to the knuckle, almost immediately accompanying it with another. Cybernetic and flesh arms looped around Vaughn’s neck, pawing the solid and sinew of his muscled back. Rhys rocked against the digits, jaw gaping open in an heavy sigh.

“Please just fuck me already, Vaughn,” he uttered. “It’s been too long.”

A kiss was planted on his nose, Vaughn’s thick beard tickling Rhys’ lips and chin.

“Wouldn’t dream of keeping you waiting any longer, Rhys.”

He slid his fingers out, then, adjusting Rhys’s gangly limbs so that he could align his cock. As he worked the slick, fat head against the other man’s entrance, desperate to push in, his gaze drifted over Rhys’ shoulder, latching on to Zane’s.

The Operative was transfixed, eyes gleaming with undeniable yearning, cheeks burning red from all the alcohol he’d consumed. He’d frozen in place, startling when he realized Vaughn was staring at him. The bandit king nuzzled Rhys’ ear, spoke clandestine words into it. There was a moment when the CEO’s head swiveled round, raking the older man with a scrutinizing gaze. Zane was pretty sure they’d decided he was being a dodgy creeper after all and were about to tell him to feck off.

“I’d say you’re more than enough for me, bro,” Rhys said aloud, his words directed at Vaughn but definitely meant to be overheard. “But I think there’s room for one more in this party.”

Zane knew he really, really shouldn’t. Drunk as he was, he was still on a job. Rhys was a client. There were lines you didn’t cross in his profession in case you ever were to find those you crossed them with on the business end of your sniper rifle. Even someone as unassuming as Rhys Strongfork had the potential to become a force of destructive nature. Monsters of men were often made, after all, not entirely born. 

The Operative didn’t know, then, why he was unfastening his utility belt, taking off the armoring and materials that consisted of his top layers; he didn’t know why he thought it fine to leave his pistol lying on a cushion or why the ache in his loins became the catalyst for movement. It was foolish getting involved in this. He had more discipline than that. He wasn’t a young lad trying to sow his oats anymore, or prove anything to himself.

And these two boyos, they had a thing between them that was so natural and genuine that he’d thought it a myth. How could he just shoehorn himself in the space between that?

But he absolutely was, and he hadn’t needed much coaxing. He guessed it didn’t mean much beyond being woefully unsober and sexually deprived. Among his kin, he’d always been the one who’d had the most trouble keeping it in his pants or refraining from breaking hearts. Besides, what was a little strengthening of bonds between _present_ allies?

Locked in a passionate melding of lips and tongue, Vaughn and Rhys broke apart at Zane’s approach, Rhys’ ECHO eye flashing brilliant blue as he looked over at him. No sooner was Zane unzipping his pants that the CEO was reaching for him, drawing his length out with restless energy. Against slender fingers and cushy palms, Zane’s cock pulsed, greedy for touch. Lingering doubts were chased into the crevasses of his mind as Rhys leaned in and wrapped his lips around the head, drawing it in with suction alone. Simultaneously he pushed back against Vaughn, the bandit’s cock finally plunging into him, a deep, satisfied groan coming from the man. The hard edge of teeth scraped against Zane’s sensitive flesh, Rhys taking a moment to squeeze his eyes shut and wince as he stretched around the intrusion. Drool seeped from the seam of his lips as he let out a series of muffled grunts. Zane might’ve barely known him or Vaughn. But in those moments, which were leaving their searing brand on his mind, his desire for more of whatever was unfolding was voracious. He had to do everything in his power not to grab Rhys by a clump of his hair and force him further down on his shaft. The drive was exacerbated by Vaughn, who lathed his tongue over Rhys’ nipples, biting down on them. The interior of the CEO’s mouth flexed around Zane like some great muscle squeezing him in its embrace, imbibing more of him until nearly at the root. 

“If I would’ve known you’d be this enthusiastic about adding a third again,” Vaughn huffed out, clamping down on Rhys’ chest in a love bite, suckling there. When he pulled off, the skin was ringed in irritated red, highly likely to bruise. “I would’ve suggested it sooner.”

At the ‘again’, Zane cocked an eyebrow, curious, but decided it was ultimately not his business to inquire.

Cupping Rhys’ ass cheeks, Vaughn squeezed them hard, pinning Rhys to his groin with his strength. He used his grip as leverage, locking the CEO in place as his hips thrust upward in a rhythm hard and fast enough that the slapping of skin against skin drowned out their collective expressions of ecstasy. Rhys was jostled so much that he barely needed to move on his own, the propulsion from Vaughn’s powerful movements causing him to bob on Zane’s cock with sloppy truncation that was so concentrated in one spot it had become overstimulation. The Operative’s hands swept up into Rhys’ hair, almost gentle as they combed through the sea of locks and encircled his head. His length slipped within the wet confines, getting so deep he found himself lodge in the CEO’s throat entirely. Taking it like he was experienced in the matters of deep throating—and, really, Zane had no idea if he wasn’t—Rhys’ gaze was glistening as it rolled up to meet his, his hair falling over his face in disarray, hands stretching and reaching, clawing through the fine white hairs on Zane’s chest.

Pulling back, hearing the liquid smack of withdrawal as Rhys’ lips released his glans, Zane let out a long, rumbling that was more predatory growl than anything derived from pleasure. Rhys’ chest was heaving. He wrapped his arms around Vaughn, clinging to his lover as his body shuddered, his lips falling in the other man’s hair and on his face with haphazard aplomb. His hips slammed down, causing Vaughn to yelp at the unexpected impact, though it quickly blossomed into something more robust and primal.

Words poured from Rhys’ mouth, garbled, hard to understand at first.

When coherency finally glued them together, they were still barely strung.

“You and Zane…both of you, together. Fuck me. Right now.”

Vaughn’s movements ground to a halt. With sweat drenching his brow, eyes bright with arousal and something akin to incredulity, he appeared taken off guard, uncertain.

“You sure you want us to do that, Rhys?” Hands smoothing up the CEO’s sides, fitting in the slats of his ribs, Vaughn kissed the hollow of his throat. “No pressure, really.”

There was a shaky, breathless laugh from Rhys that seemed almost delirious, and he said, “Couldn’t be more sure. You two are just that hot. Now do it before I lose my nerve.”

“Anything you say, bro.” A pause. “What about you, VH? Are you with us?”

“If me and me big lad here are invited to the party, we best be showin’ up, eh?”

That seemed to settle it. Zane gathered up the lube, fished a condom from his utility belt (never leave your bunk without one), and was fitting the prophylactic over his erection. The shaft snug in its confines, he shook some drops of _Midnight Oil_ down on it, careful not to overuse the potent substance. Vaughn had laid back fully on the cushions, Rhys’ much taller form bowed over him. They’d fallen back to making out, biting and licking at each other’s lips, murmurs and sighs accompanying the trails of mouths on adam’s apples, and shoulders, and chests; anywhere that was convenient, bonus points if it was sensitive.

Zane watched the curvature of Rhys’ back flexing with his movements, the lack of muscular definition paving a streamlined view to his ass. It was unbroken symmetry that Zane was only happy to mar with his own body, one hand coming down on the back of Rhys’ neck. The other gripped at his own shaft, a prayer the fine slathering of lube adorning it would be enough chanted in his mind. The head of his cock brushed against what remained unburied of Vaughn’s length, the bandit king’s pelvis gyrating at the sensation, making it hard for him to aim for Rhys’ entrance as the CEO was jostled. 

“Oi, boyos. I know ye be eager for me langer and all, but for feck’s sake, can ya keep still? I can’t even keep track of ya hoop.”

Rhys snorted like a beast held at bay, but Vaughn had the decency to mutter a, “sorry, bro,” and bring his hips to rest.

From there, it was a matter of force. The Operative lined himself up, pushing into a gap that was barely there. Out of Rhys’ throat came a raw sound so indistinct in its implications that neither of his companions could tell if it was ripped from a place of pain or desire. Zane half expected him to buck him off, banish him from this pocket of gratification. But he simply reached back, fumbling blindly until he was grasping the toned indent of Zane’s hip with metallic fingers. Zane rolled his hips, feeling the vice of muscle stretch wider around him, his glans making leeway. Even Vaughn was moaning, the feel of Rhys further tightening around him coupled with the silken sensation of Zane’s cock massaging his own turning his muscles rigid. His hand found the meat of Zane’s other thigh, grasping it and helping Rhys draw him in.

“Fuck, keep going.” Rhys’ voice sounded choked by unshed tears. The nails of his free hand dug into the meat of Vaughn’s shoulder, scratching down his chest till the man hissed. “Oh, goddam. Shit. I think I’m dying, Vaughn.”

“You’re not dying, Rhys. We got you.”

Slamming in until Rhys’ body refused to accommodate him any further, Zane grumbled low. The man beneath him let out a squeal, huffing for breath in-between the louder noises that emerged from him. With The Operative working his body into a slow rhythm that drove him in deep, the bandit’s voice joined the fray, his own cock unable to thrust, pressed too flush to Rhys’ walls by the pressure of the cock accompanying it. The CEO bearing down on them both, Zane darted in and bit down on his shoulder, riding out the sensation, his hand slapping down hard on a cheek; Vaughn’s breath caught in his throat, nearly choking him, words finally squeezed out moments later.

“Ah, not really going to last much longer,” he said between pants of breath. “I can’t hold back. Just feels too damn good with you bros.”

“Hold off a tic.” Rhys’ body was suddenly encircled by the unbreakable band of Zane’s arms. “Help me lift ‘im.”

It didn’t take more than a few moments for Vaughn to break out of his revelry and catch on. The older man was shuffling about, remaining on his knees even as he pulled Rhys upright and secured him against his chest. Helping him with his shear strength, Vaughn moved with them, helping to hold Rhys’ hips aloft even as he unfolded himself to his feet, contact remaining unbroken. Vaughn had to keep his knees braced, but it wasn’t long until Zane had gone still and he was thrusting up into Rhys’ entrance without restraint, balls pounding out a rhythm against his two companions. He tugged and gnashed at the CEO’s nipples, drawing a boisterous, continuous moan from the man, his movements without relent. Their mouths clashed, broke apart, collided again. Rhys milked the cocks within him, his body pulsing around them as if to some heartbeat they all shared.

“That’s it, bro.” Vaughn exclaimed, his eyes like a wild beast’s, thick hair matted to his forehead in clumps with sweat, beard damp with it. His pistoning hips drove in hard, hitting Rhys in those deep, intimate places that were making him writhe against Zane. “You’re so goddamn freakin’ amazing, taking us both like the pro you are. I never doubted you could pull it off. If there’s one guy I know who can handle this kind of thing in stride despite his own doubts and come out a champ, its you.”

A smile found its way to Zane’s lips upon Vaughn speaking those words. It was rather endearing, hearing such encouraging words born from admiration passed between the two men. The mad boyos—or, well, bros—must have had a pretty enduring relationship, with that kind of love involved.

The praise seemed to trigger something deep in Rhys’ brain. His body flexed and pulled at the two men fucking him, his breaths crescendoing as he scrunched himself up against The Operative, arms hooking back around the older man’s neck, the cybernetic one a heavy, cumbersome weight upon it. It took less than a few seconds before he was cumming without any manual stimulation, an arc of semen shooting high and spattering down across his torso. Vaughn howled like a feral man set loose on an unassuming society, cock twitching against Zane’s as he unloaded a torrent of warm jism in the already cramped space. Between the sensation of it oozing along him and Vaughn’s throbbing shaft shifting against his own, plus Rhys fluttering around them both, Zane found he couldn’t stop his balls from drawing tight to his body, nor the tidal wave that was set off as he reached the pleasure pinnacle. He was cumming as well, spurts of slippery jism joining the fray as they filled the condom to capacity.

“Ah feckin’ goddam gobshite,” he bellowed nonsensically, thighs quaking with the force, the tremors reaching up past his groin, making the muscles there and in his abdomen tremble. “Jaysus.”

Breathing hard, Rhys was having some difficulty coming down from his orgasmic high, still spasming at times, causing a chorus of gasps and groans among them. His cock, quivering between wilted and still at attention, dribbled more cum as if it were a bottomless well of the stuff. 

“That was even better than my first time at Carnivora,” Vaughn crowed, fingers streaking through globs of semen as he smoothed them over Rhys’ chest with affection. “Let’s never, ever do that again. The going so long inbetween seeing each other, not the threesome.” A fond gaze found Zane as Vaughn shifted his attention to him. “_That_ was actually really hot. You’re welcome to join us again any time you feel up to it, VH.” 

“I am in full agreement,” Rhys said with words that were laden with the onset of exhaustion, his eyelids starting to droop. “And that’s all I have to say. Because I think I’m probably about to pass out in both of your arms right now.”

With a smug beam and a ripple of muscles, Zane began to shift his weight and lift Rhys up.

“I think this boyo’s right knackered, Vaughn. Best we let ‘im down for a kip cos he’s just about absolutely gammy.”

“Not sure what you just said, but I’m probably in agreement, so….”

Without finishing his sentence, Vaughn set to the task of extracting himself from inside Rhys, groaning as he simultaneously helped push the CEO upward. As soon as he’d worked himself free, his length flopped out, doused so throughly in white that the skin almost ceased to show through. A slippery stream of cum spilled forth, no longer contained, leaving the cushions below thoroughly stained. Together, The Operative and the bandit king lowered Rhys down between them, his limp form arranged into something comfortable by their hands, their own bodies coming to drape against him from either side. Zane snapped the condom off his cock, tossing it aside without care. Rhys and Vaughn were locked together again when he turned back, this time their kiss languid and chaste.

They parted, Rhys shifting just the slightest, his shaky hand coming up to caress the mutton chop of Zane’s beard. He pulled them together, then, made a noise of content as their mouths met. Rhys’ was soft and pliable, tasting of salt but also something faintly spicy.

The three of them ended up fucking again after they’d all had time to rest and regain enough of a lascivious drive. Over the next two days, it was practically all they did inbetween necessary tasks and encampment upkeep.

Sometimes it was just Rhys and Vaughn alone, pounding out a hard, driving drumbeat together, uttering sweet words and loving endearments at each other that were sometimes _too_ saccharine for Zane’s tastes. He didn’t interfere during those times, letting them have those private moments of intimacy between them alone.

Once it was just Zane and Vaughn alone, the bandit king cornering him one morning under darkness in the communal bath, the two of them exchanging mutual blowjobs. It had been oddly comfortable, despite Rhys not joining them. Later, he’d found out Rhys had put Vaughn up to the task, or at least had made the suggestion. He never ended up sussing out why.

When it came time to depart Pandora and make the journey back to Promethea, their departure was bitter sweet. The Atlas CEO was obviously bummed about it. When Zane offered his ear, Rhys told him simply that Vaughn had turned down a proposal to finally come home to Atlas and work for him instead of staying on this nacho-flavored hellhole of a planet. 

Back on Sanctuary III, during the return trip, Rhys called Zane into his guest quarters. He was hunched over the work table in the center of the room when The Operative walked in through the open door, hands braced against the table top, back arched like a predator attempting to get low to the ground as it stalked prey. The curve of his spine and the lines of his shoulders and hips brought back a rush of memories for Zane. He was suddenly back at Vaughn’s bandit camp, buried balls deep in the CEO’s arse.

Zane realized that Rhys had noticed him and was gesturing to his ECHO.

“Your payment’s been transferred to your accounts,” he said simply. “One Atlas brand smart-bullet sniper rifle, top of the line. One limited edition Atlas pistol—that one’s a prototype. Several cases of select aged liquors distilled by the monks on Athenas. And one hundred eridium pieces. Feel free to access the digistructions any time at your convenience.”

With a hum of thought, Zane edged closer. 

“Rather a large pay off for such a wee job, really, now that I’ve had a tic to mull about it. Seems right fishy, like yer tryin’ to butter me biscuit or somethin.”

Nervous laughter trickled out of Rhys and he ran a hand through his hair, smoothing it back as the laughter died and became a cough.

“I, er, I think you already buttered mine, to be more accurate.”

“Ha, ain’t that the truth, boyo. Say, how’s the arse treatin’ ya? You still havin’ a right painful time of struttin’ about?”

“I’ll need to stack up my desk chairs with a few extra seat cushions for about a week, but I’ll be alright.”

“Glad to hear it. Well, we’ll be settin’ a course for Promethea shortly after Ellie tunes up this ole bucko. Ya feelin’ a bit peckish, ya can join me at Moxxi’s for a nip. I’ll be holed up there gettin’ meself bolloxed.”

Before The Operative could turn away, Rhys crossed the short distance between them, his cyber hand coming to rest on Zane’s bicep.

“Er, thanks for the offer. I might just take you up on it. If I don’t, I just wanted to let you know.” A bit of a smile touched Rhys’ lips, his flesh fingers twitching at his side. “Me and Vaughn, we’re not exactly exclusive. He has his life on Pandora, and me, well, you know I’ve got Atlas to run. Our arrangement works. For the most part. But what I’m trying to say is, uh.”

Both Zane’s eyebrows had risen into his hairline, but he kept silent.

“What I’m trying to say is, if you ever find yourself around Promethea and want some company, or just, you know, need to blow off some steam. Don’t hesitate to reach out to me.”

The Operative’s gaze remained steadied, unblinking. The hand on his arm dropped away, curling against Rhys’ chest as if he’d burned it. Which was impossible, of course, considering it was made of metal alloy. Finally Zane curled his lower lip and blew out a puff of air.

After a moment, Rhys realized the man was chuckling.

“Saw this one comin’ a mile’s out, really,” Zane remarked, words interspersed with laughter. “Best be cautious though, boyo. Or ye may just end up gettin’ yerself flattened by yours truly more often than yer do ya little bandit bro there.”

**Author's Note:**

> My bro Blown-Ego was awesome enough to provide an illustration for this. You can view it [Here](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/EHXJcpuW4AEx6gI?format=jpg&name=4096x4096) (NSFW)
> 
> Find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/MorteAmore)


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